Growing Flames
by Erica110598
Summary: Our own Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen, has been scarred and broken terribly by the events of the past few years. After surviving two arenas, an assassination attempt, and the war in general, Katniss has returned home to Twelve. She turns to Peeta, Haymitch, and some old friends to help her move on. But where she searches for only help, she may just find love.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1- BRING IT BACK**

I awake, tangled in a spread of white sheets, with the pale morning light beating in on my eyes through a crack in the blinds. Someone is repeatedly knocking on the door; I grumpily pull my silk red robe from my nightstand and envelop myself in its warmth, as I had only slept in my undergarments the previous night. I slip on my pink, wooly slippers and begrudgingly trudge out of my bedroom door. I walk down the stairs and into the foyer. I stop when I reach the door and sigh, the stranger knocks again and I rise up on my toes and press my eye to the peephole in the center of the door. What little I can see of the visitor, the chiseled chest and shoulder muscles that lead into his long neck and pointed chin, gives away who is rapping on my door so early in the morning. I unhook the lock and turn the knob, slightly opening the door and peaking out. When I affirm the easily recognizable identity of my visitor, I open the door in full and stare at him for a couple seconds before speaking.

"Hey Peeta," I mutter, "What are you doing here?" I tentatively brush the hair—that hangs so loosely in my face—out of my eyes and behind my ear. I stare into his blue eyes intently, I haven't seen him for about two weeks, since he planted the primrose bushes along the side of my house. I am distracted when he begins to speak and don't catch a word of what he has said. "What?" I say.

He laughs, then begins slowly, "I brought you something, Katniss," He reaches into a bag that he is carrying in his left hand and pulls out a small white box. He opens it up and inside sits the perfect little balls of bread, covered ever so carefully in cheddar by his perfect hand. He picks one up and holds it out to me. "These are your favorites, real or not real?"

I salivate just looking at the perfect little cheese bun. I nod vigorously, "Real," I smile at him playfully as I say it and step aside and wave him into my house. We walk to the kitchen and sit down across from each other at my table. We sit in comfortable silence as I stuff my mouth with one of his delectable pastries. Peeta watches me intently while picking at a cheese bun of his own. His gaze shifts to the floor and his mouth opens as if he is about to speak several times, but no words come out. Usually I am the one unable to formulate words, he always knows what to say and how to act. After a period of even more deliberate silence, he opens his mouth and this time the words tumble out.

"How have you been, Katniss?" He asks casually. The question is so simple, part of me wonders what took him so long to cough it out.

I hesitate, then speak, "As good as I can be, I guess," I smile weakly at him, "How have you been?" I throw back.

"Fine," He simply states, he hesitates as I did and then adds, "My time in the Capitol was pretty lonely," He truly looks as if he is about to cry. I don't know what brought on this sadness. He was the one who initiated this conversation, wasn't he? It isn't even that complicated, it was just a simple question. Maybe his loneliness was just that terrible. Before I can stop myself, I walk around the table and pull out the chair next to him, I turn to face him and look him in the eyes.

"You aren't lonely anymore," I smile at him gently, he laughs. I think about my own loneliness. The only company I've had lately is Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. Even those visits are limited to mornings and evenings, and I don't know if Greasy Sae is still going to come around anymore now that Peeta's back. Maybe she thinks that he's going to take over her job. As I think of the limited human interaction that has been present in my life in the past month, I formulate an idea. "Why don't we spend the day together, Peeta?" I ask cautiously. I haven't had a real conversation with him in a while, maybe we could talk about some things that are confusing for him, his shiny memories. Maybe I can help him be whole again.

He suddenly jerks his head up and looks me straight in the eyes, blue meets grey and I can't help but notice the slight glare the luminates them as he moves his head around, flipping his blonde curls out of his face. "Really?" He says, clearly shocked.

"No, Peeta, I was kidding," I tease, I pause and smile at him, "Of course, I'm serious, Peeta, we haven't had a normal conversation in months, we've barely even seen each other, it would be good for us, I think," I finish.

"Are you saying you missed me?" He flaunts, suddenly breaking into a quiet chuckle. I give him my best scowl that screams _we aren't going to talk about this now _and he puts his hands up in defeat. I playfully push him. "What should we do?" He questions.

We think in silence for a few seconds, and then I get a simple idea, "Why don't we just go for a walk?"

He smiles, "I would love that," He says chuckling. He stands up immediately and pushes in his chair. He comes over and pulls mine out slowly. He offers me his hands and helps me up. As I stand up, we come face to face and once again I find myself staring into the icy blue daggers that are his eyes. Years ago these eyes would meet mine in the school yard, only to quickly flit away seconds later. Now, they hold my gaze and I am the one to pull my eyes away first, only to look down and see that our hands are intertwined. I pull my hands away nervously and wipe my sweaty palms against my legs. That's when I realize I'm just wearing a robe.

"Peeta, I think I should change first," I tell him, he looks down at my outfit and nods in agreement, mouthing a silent "yes". I walk swiftly to the stairs and leap upstairs to go get changed. When I get into my room, I reach into my dark, wood dressers and pull out a clump of tops with one my hands. I throw them on my bed and pick out a dark purple tank top and a black jacket to go over it since the weather hasn't been exactly warm even though it's already March. I pull on a pair of dark wash jeans and my old hunting boots and run back down the stairs to meet Peeta by the front door. I have barely gotten to his side before he opens the door and we walk out.

"You look great in that top," He says with a nervous smile. I feel like a deer caught in headlights, and it must register on my face because before I can respond, Peeta is apologizing. "I'm sorry, I guess that wasn't appropriate to say. . ." He says as his voice begins trailing off.

I grab his shoulder and stop him from walking anymore as my own feet stop. "No, Peeta, it's fine," I reassure him, "Thank you."

He smiles at me and we continue walking towards town and off the lawn of the Victor's Village. What has he been doing with all of his time lately? While I would just sit on the couch in a crumpled, depressed state, what would the oh-so active boy with the bread be doing during all this time?

"What have you been doing since you came back?" I tentatively question. I scratch the back of my neck and look at Peeta. He looks thoughtful.

"Not much really, mostly just sitting around. I haven't really baked much, the cheese buns we ate this morning were actually the first thing I've made since I've been back," He pauses for a moment, "I've been painting, too."

I can't say that I'm not amazed that all he has done until today is sit around and maybe paint a little. He's usually the one who motivates those around him to get up and just do something. But I'm glad he has had time to paint, because I absolutely love his paintings. I find myself wishing that I could see them. Just as the thought reaches my head, his voice reaches my ear.

"Would you like to see them?" I let out a small gasp and he looks over at me, utterly confused. "Katniss, are you OK?"

"I'm fine,"

"Ok," His voice is quiet now, barely a whisper. For a reason I can't understand, this is one of those moments where I have to act before I do something stupid, like cry.

"Yes, Peeta, I'd love to see your paintings," I tell him, giving him my best winning smile. His eyes twinkle and he quickly reaches out to grab my hand and starts running back towards his house with me trailing behind him. I almost trip a couple of times and he slows down for me. But when his prosthetic leg hits a rock he tumbles forward and I land on top of him. "Well, someone is excited," I smile at him and he smiles back, we both give a hearty laugh and I roll off of him and collect myself before standing up. I give him a hand and he latches on and pulls himself to his feet.

"Sorry about that," He says, chuckling. We walk the last few steps to his front porch and he unlocks the door with his key and we walk inside. The first thing I notice when I step inside is the impeccable, spotless floor. Peeta's house is always so clean, I don't think I've ever seen one little thing on the floor. The wood in his front foyer is so clean and smooth that you could skate across it, even without socks. He leads me past his living room and the red couches that fill up its entirety and up the stairs. We reach the narrow hallway and walk past several doors before finally coming to a dark brown wooden door at the end of the hall. H

He turns the brass knob and I immediately gasp. Wall to wall are pictures of everything, even the memories that aren't so clear to him. There are a few ones I absolutely can't stand to look at. There's a syringe pressing gross, green ooze into an arm, and over there is a picture of what I can only imagine is Johanna, writhing in pain as the electric shocks go through her water-filled cell and eventually, her body. Then there's one that catches my eye as soon as I turn my head towards it. It's my face, both of my arms are reaching outwards, my hands run off the page and it is evident that this is how he saw me in the Capitol. When I thought that I was going to lose him, that he was going to have another attack. At the very top corner of the page are my words, "Stay with me." My thoughts all run together and the only one I catch is the one that I whisper, barely audible.

"Always," I murmur. That is what his response was. I asked him to stay with me and he told me always. There are so many things about him, about me, that only confirm that he was telling the truth. He's here now, isn't he? Even through the hijacking, he was still my Peeta. My thoughts jumble together again as everything is violently thrown at me. The Capitol, Finnick, Prim, Coin's demise by my hand, Snow trampled and choking to death on his own spit, my own trial, Peeta's hijacking. Everything I fear most is what runs through my mind right now, and Peeta, who is so good at reading me, obviously notices my distress and comes up from behind and puts an arm around me.

"That one's my favorite," he says, pointing to one in the exact opposite corner of the room. I turn around and my jaw drops. My lips tremble. My hands shake. It's Prim. It's her, she's staring at me. Her blue eyes aglow and her mouth barely open as if she is about to say something. Her medic shirt is untucked in the back and she is tending to a wounded child, the snow around them splattered with red. Silver parachutes lay all around. There is a single explosion going off in the background and I know that this is what she looked like right before death. Barely calling out my name, happy at seeing me but terrified nonetheless, tending to a wounded child in the City Square. I turn around and stare at Peeta in disbelief.

"I knew you would hate it," He says softly, "But, I just love it so much, I can't explain why, it's just one of the most emotion-filled paintings I've made yet."

I just keep looking at him, my mouth agape, I stutter, "I- I hate it, Peeta, it's beautiful but I absolutely hate it."

He nods his head, "I know that." We are silent. I don't know whether to cry or just leave. I resolve to do the latter but as I reach the door, his hand grips onto my shoulder. "No, Katniss, don't leave, please."

"What am I supposed to do, Peeta?" I ask sternly. I can't deal with the events of the past five minutes and I just want to get out of here. But Peeta won't allow it, I know he won't, I can see it in his eyes that he will do everything he can to get me to stay. He wants me to stay. I open my mouth to tell him that I just don't think I can handle it right now, but before I say anything, he tenderly wraps his arms around me. I tentatively raise my arms to return the favor and nestle my head into the crook of his neck.

"Ok, Peeta, I'll stay," I say sweetly.

The rest of the afternoon is calm, quiet. We don't do much. We sit on the couch, we play cards, and we watch television. At some point, Haymitch comes over and he and Peeta play a game of chess and Haymitch teases us about being together again, we just shrug it off and I spend the rest of the match throwing bits and pieces of the popcorn I was eating and his head. At the end of the game, he starts throwing the chess pieces at me and Peeta has to jump between the two of us before someone hurts the other. By the time evening comes and Haymitch has left, we are so exhausted we can barely move.

"I better get going home, Peeta," I tell him as we lay on the couch, his hand twiddling with my braid.

"Ok," He whispers. But I don't move, I just stay in my spot. My head is on his lap, his fingers have untangled my braid and my hair now falls in waves around my head.

"I should really. . . " I trail off the blackness absorbs me as I hear Peeta shushing softly and whispering that he still loves me gently.

_I run frantically around the Capitol streets, frantically searching for my partner, my friend. I can't find him anywhere. Nor do I see his blonde locks or blue eyes anywhere in my vicinity. After many minutes of my unsuccessful searching, I end up in the huge City Square. There he stands, snake-like and venomous, with a white rose in his lapel. President Snow. _

_ "Aren't you going to save your dear, dear boyfriend, Ms. Everdeen?" He questions, a smirk plays on his lips. I turn and see Peeta standing on some sort of wooden platform, his neck circled with a rope which hangs from a wooden post above him. A Peacekeeper pulls some sort of lever and the platform retracts. Peeta's body drops and goes limp. He hangs there in midair, twirling left to right. I break down, I sob. Then a peacekeeper comes and puts a gun to my head. _

_He pulls the trigger and my world goes black._

I awake, sweating and terrified on a couch. It isn't my couch, the red velvet tells me this. However, I am covered in a puffy, white comforter and there is a soft, cushiony feather pillow behind my head. I take a look at the spotless floor around me and realize that I must still be at Peeta's house. Of course he wouldn't wake me once I had fallen asleep; he's too courteous to do so. I am still shaking and I can't control the tremor that invades my bottom lip. Before I know it I'm sobbing. I know Peeta must be upstairs. If he isn't in the room with me, he must've gone to bed. I hate to disturb him at this late hour, but I need him, I really need him. I run up the stairs and burst through the door to his bedroom. The door hits the wall with a loud bang and Peeta immediately jolts from his peaceful slumber. His eyes wander a bit as he tries to place where he is, and then lock on me.

"Katniss!" He exclaims worriedly, he gets up and walks towards me, "What's wrong? Are you OK?" He is in front of me now, and he reaches a hand out and places it sweetly on my shoulder.

I can't speak, I'm sobbing too loudly now. "I was-. . . And you were gone and-. . . Snow had you-" I continue to sob wildly and barely choke out anything intelligible. He pulls me into a tight hug.

"Shh," He murmurs in my ear, "It's OK now, Katniss, I'm here, I won't let them hurt you," He pulls away from me and stares at me right in the eyes for a few moments, his lips slightly parted and his eyebrows raised in distress. He leans in towards me and pauses suddenly as his lips are about to meet mine, as if asking permission, I don't pull away and he seems to take this as consent to continue. He gives me a slow, but quick kiss, full-on the lips. He pulls back, "Better?" He whispers. I nod my head. He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bed as he draws the deep blue covers back. I lay down and he lays down next to me, my back pressing into his stomach and his knees locked with mine. He puts one arm around me and I latch onto the hand that comes to rest gently against my stomach. I bring it up to my mouth and kiss it slowly, taking in his scent.

"Peeta," I quietly whimper.

"Yes?" He responds, pushing my dark locks of hair out of my eyes.

"Don't ever leave me," I tell him, turning around and staring directly into the blue holes that have dilated ever so slightly.

"Okay," He mutters as he smiles.

"No, you need to promise," I demand, "Promise that you'll never leave me."

He looks at me sweetly and places a hesitant kiss on my forehead, "I promise."  
I shift in his arms and get comfortable. As sleep, as well as Peeta, pulls me into its soft embrace, I hear him whisper a word, almost inaudibly.

"Always."

* * *

**A/N~ Greetings, reader! If you are not aware. This is a rewrite of my previous story "Moving On". Much more creative title, huh? But anyways, if you read and enjoyed 'Moving On' before this, I am very hopeful that you will enjoy this one as well. Prepare for better plot development, characterization, detail, etc.! AND ALSO MORE CHAPTERS! :O I just thought Moving On was too short and my writing was not the best. You will not have to have read Moving On before this in order to understand this one as it isn't a sequel, just a rewrite. But it's going to be great! And this time, I'm actually writing as I go instead of just posting a story I wrote a long time ago on a new site. :O So, sit down, get some popcorn, snuggle up next to the fire place, cover up with a blanket, and enjoy 'Growing Flames'. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2- I KNOW YOU**

I slept at Peeta's house last night. I slept in his bed. He didn't have a flashback. The only nightmare I had was the one that sent me from his couch to his room. I was fine. He was fine. I let him hold me through the night, and this morning, I allowed him to kiss me on the forehead to wake me, even though I had been lying awake, although shiftless, for almost an hour waiting for he himself to wake up. I still don't know how all this is going to work out. I still don't know how I want our relationship to turn out. I still don't know if I love him. The one thing I do know is that he loves me, for now and forever, I hope.  
So now, as I sit at home in my study where I had my tea with Snow over a year ago, I can't help but feel lonely. I don't have Peeta's presence beside me. I have no idea if I should even want that. It just isn't right, after all the pain and loss that this world has gone through in such a little amount of time, I'm thinking about Peeta and I's relationship issues. If you can even call it a relationship. I, for one, don't know what it is.

I have entirely no clue what to do today. Especially since Sae and her granddaughter, Tarot, didn't come over. I play with the bounties of books that fill the room. I flip through their pages to see if any interest me, none do. I play with the covers and let the pages hang down in the center. I even stack the books as if they are a pack of cards. As a last resort, I try to juggle the three smallest books in my collection. One of my books falls from my hand as I attempt to toss it into the air lightly, landing on the exact other side of my desk, knocking my bow and sheath of arrows from their places on the very edge of the desk. As I pick them up, I realize that at some point I will have to get back to everyday life. I'll have to do something to else my pain.  
I pick up the small, wooden bow and sling the sheath over my shoulder. I walk out into the hall, leaving the study door wide open. I'm not sure if the smell from the roses that Snow left in there during the rebellion is quite gone, yet. But I'm not taking any chances. I aim to clear him from my life, and I will take every precaution to do so. I walk down the long, narrow hallway and trod down the stairs and into my foyer. As I put my hand on the brass knob, I wonder what Peeta is doing right now. It's mid-afternoon. I had breakfast with him just this morning. Is he painting? Might he be baking something? I can't be sure. I think to go see him, but decide against it when I see the shutters drawn closed and the doors locked. I walk out past the lawn of the Victor's Village, but just as I reach the end of the drive and am about to walk out the stone gate, I have a thought. There's someone else that I need to visit.

I open the door and immediately the stench hits my nose. I know that the Hawthornes have not returned yet so Hazelle can't clean for him, but the least Haymitch could do is clean up after himself for once. I rummage through the piles of garbage, looking for something I could use to wake him up if I need to. I find a discarded liquor bottle and decide it'll have to do. If he isn't awake already, I'll fill it with water and dump it on him like I did the morning of the Victory Tour. I come to the kitchen and see he's slumped over in a chair, entirely oblivious to the world around him. He almost looks dead. I make my way from the kitchen entrance way to the sink by the window in the opposite corner. I fill the empty bottle with cold water and in a couple of ice cubes from the refrigerator for good measure. I walk back to the table, doing my best not to step on any of his beloved garbage, and violently throw the water at him. He wakes with quite a start. After he slashes the air violently with the knife he carries in his hand as he sleeps a few times, he comes to and locks eyes with me.

"God, sweetheart, is that the only damn thing you can do?" He exclaims furiously.

I smirk and then morph my face so that I appear dead serious, "I need to talk to you."

Haymitch guffaws, "About?" He smiles innocently.

"I know you know what this is about, Haymitch, stop playing games," I warn. But he doesn't give in that easily.

"But what if you're wrong, what if I don't know what you're talking about and we're on two totally separate pages?" He teases.

"Haymitch. . . " I scowl; I don't have time to play games.

"Come on, sweetheart, just spit it out," He sarcastically taunts.

"Haymitch."

"Say it."

"No,"

"Say it!"

"Fine! It's about Peeta, alright? Are you happy now? God, I knew I shouldn't have come to you for help!" I viciously yell almost directly into Haymitch's ear.

"Who else were you going to go to? The boy and I are all you've got left!" He laughs heartily. I snarl. I could've called up my mom, except I haven't talked to her in months. Prim's gone. I can't talk to Peeta about a problem about himself. There's Greasy Sae. But I don't think she'd understand. In fact, she hasn't ever been too fond about Peeta, she has dropped hints about trying to keep me away from him before. She's said things to try to keep me from going to see him.

"The baker's boy had another attack, I had to lock him in his bedroom for almost an hour before he finally came to, and when I went in, there was broken glass all over the floor and the walls were all scratched up. You should keep an eye out for that one, don't go near him if you see him coming!" She had not-so-subtly told me about a week before he showed up on my doorstep.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and pull myself back to reality, "Haymitch, I don't know what to do," I say, pulling a chair out from the table and sitting myself down.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He spits at me, "Finally talked to the boy, huh?" I just nod. Haymitch seems to take this as a hint that I am entirely serious about needing his advice. "What happened between the two of you?"

"Nothing," I say quietly, "We didn't fight, he didn't have any flashbacks or anything. . . I fell asleep on his couch and I had a nightmare,"

Haymitch looks me up and down when I stand there hesitantly for a minute, I am still and quiet, I don't say anything more until Haymitch prompts me, "And?"

"I woke up and went up to his room and he comforted me and I slept in his room with him," I finish, realizing that what I'm saying doesn't have much of a problem with it. There isn't anything I should need advice about. I am unsure why exactly I came here in the first place anymore.

"And?" Haymitch says gruffly, picking up on what I have already noticed.

"Nothing, that's it," I tell him, annoyed even though his ideas are correct.

"I don't hear much of a problem, sweetheart," He scoffs, "What do you want me to tell you? I still stand by what I said before, you could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve that boy. After his hijacking and the way you've treated him these past few years, the first time he sees you after the war and he's kissing your feet, he lets you in his home on the first damn date for crying out loud! What problem is there?"

"I know," I whisper.

"Then why are you here?" Haymitch yells, "Go talk to the boy!"

Rage inside me builds, I can't just talk to him. I can't just run back to him and scream to the heavens that I want him to love me like he used to, I can't just tell him that all of a sudden I have the deepest sort of feelings for him, because the truth is I'm not sure if I do. I am pushed over the edge by my own thoughts.

"I can't!" I scream angrily in Haymitch's direction.

"And why not?" He coughs out hoarsely.

"Because I can't just tell him that I love him, how is that supposed to work? I've spent years making up my mind about him and now I just go and randomly profess my love to him? How stupid would I seem?"

"You just professed your love for him to me," Haymitch says proudly.

"No, I didn't," I respond, obviously waving him off.

"Yes you did, you never said you weren't sure that you loved him," Haymitch gives a small chuckle.

"Shut up, Haymitch! Why must you be so immature about everything?" I scream.

"I'm not immature, sweetheart, I'm right," He hisses with emphasis on the word _right._ I throw my arms up in defeat.

"You-" I hesitate and Haymitch takes this as permission to butt into my train of thought.

"Are right," He finishes with a sly smile.

"No, you are not!" I yell with all the anger I can muster, I grab his knife from his hand and stab it angrily into the table, then without a word, I storm out.

I fling his front door closed with a slam and run all the way across the green of the lawn of the Victor's Village. I can't deal with all the questions that swirl around in my head, I can't deal with the confusion of feelings. Anger. Hate. Love. Care. Desire. Sorrow. Although my head wants me to stop, to collapse in the middle of my front yard and just give up, my legs keep me going. I pound up my front steps and throw open my own door with all the strength I can muster, it hits the wall with a loud thud. I toss off my father's hunting jacket and boots and stomp around the house angrily. Throwing anything that gets in my way- a glass vase that once sat on the coffee table of my living room shatters as it hits the floor beneath my feet, a portrait of my once-happy family hit the wall and the frame threatens to split at several places, a small analogue clock from the wall now rests where I flung it on my couch. I even tip over the maroon couch in front of the television. I run up the stairs and fling open my bedroom door, I pull a drawer from the dresser out of its socket and make my way to the bathroom, I slam yet another door and I realize there is a steady flow of tears streaming down my cheeks. Despite every nerve in my body telling to stop, my rage continues. I throw the shampoo bottles from the shower. I punch the wall; when my fist makes contact with it, a sharp pain goes through it as if my palm has been cut by a sharp knife. I look at it and find a piece of glass stuck in the fattest part by the bottom of my thumb. I carefully pull it out and let out a shriek of pain. I finally look at myself in the mirror.

My hair sticks out of my braid at several different points. My cheeks are flush red. There's a tear in my shirt that I hadn't seen until now. My hands are cut at several different places. My burn patches are even more prominent than usual. I back up, scared by my own reflection, until I am pressed up against the wall. I stare at myself for a few seconds before bending my legs and sliding down to the floor. I press my knees to my eyes and wrap my arms around my legs. I don't how long I sit there, but it must be a while before I hear the front door open and the muffled sound of a heavy tread of footsteps coming up the stairs. My head automatically lifts up, my hunter's senses taking over. I scoot away from the bathroom door just as it opens. Peeta looks flushed, his hairline wet with beads of sweat and his wide in worry. He looks down at me.

"I heard screaming," He intones as he catches his breath, "I wanted to make sure that you were okay," Then he looks down at my hands and gives a slight sigh. "Katniss, you can't hurt yourself like this, you don't know what it does to me," He opens the cabinet under the bathroom sink and reaches in. It's where I keep my bandages and medicines since I can't stand to look at my mother's old meager supply of homemade remedies, it's just too many awful memories in one small cabinet. He pulls out the long, white, cloth bandages and grabs my hand. I wince.

"Peeta that hurts," I state with a grimace, "Don't touch it!"

"Katniss, it's alright, I have to get the glass out, it'll only hurt a bit," I nod at his words and tighten my facial muscles, I prepare myself for the pain. "Ready?" I nod.

With that, Peeta pulls out the first piece. It doesn't hurt as badly as I thought it would, but I have such little tolerance for pain that I let out a cry anyways. He does the same with each of the other five pieces of the broken vase and then wraps the bandages around both my hands. He crouches down and puts one arm behind my back and the other under my bent knees.

"Peeta, what are you doing?" My voice cracks. I've yelled and screamed and raged so much tonight that I can barely choke the words out.

"Carrying you to the bed," He looks at me with a look that just tells me how obvious his actions are, and I'm about to open my mouth to tell him I can walk to the bed when he finally lifts me from the ground and carries me bridal-style to the bed. He sits me on the end and pulls back the covers. I crawl under the soft green blanket and he pulls it back up to my neck. I adjust myself so that I am comfortable and then I turn to look at Peeta. He has a sad expression on his face.

"Why are you sad?" I ask quietly, he turns away.

He denies my observation gently, "I'm not."

"Yes, you are, Peeta, I'm not stupid."

He hesitates and his hand comes to my cheek, he gently caresses it as he stares tenderly at me, a smile begins to play on his sorrowful face, "I just don't want you to get hurt, I don't want you to feel so terrible that maybe next time I find you like this that you won't be. . ." He trails off.

"Alive?" I finish for him, my voice barely a whisper. He nods his head gently.

"You made me promise that I wouldn't leave you last night, now I'm going to make you promise the same thing, Katniss," He stares at me, his face emotionless.

"Okay," I murmur.

"No, you need to promise," He throws my own words back at me with a chuckle undertone playing beneath his voice, "Promise you won't leave me."

"I promise," I yawn, it's only mid-afternoon, but any energy I had left has been sucked away.

"Get some sleep, I'll be right downstairs if you need me," With that, Peeta leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead. I yearn for another, I yearn for more kisses like the one last night, full-on the lips, but none come. Instead, Peeta caresses my cheek once more then softly treads out of the room. I see his blonde mess of hair disappear down the hall before my eyes droop and my thoughts grow weak and I give into the bliss of the sheets that surround me.

I wake up, the bed soaked beneath me with sweat. I am terrified. Another nightmare had come to me, another one of the war, I watched my little sister blown to bits yet again. I jump up as quickly as I can and throw open the window curtain, a fading light illuminates the room ever so slightly. It is evidently evening and the sun will be gone in just a few minutes, by the looks of it. I quickly walk to the door on the other side of the room and open it just a crack. The smell hits my nose before anything else registers. "Cheese buns. . ." I whisper softly. I throw open the door and run down the stairs as fast as my legs will carry me. The scent has immediately calmed me down and the sight of the blonde mess that disappeared from my room earlier only helps to sedate me more. I run for the kitchen, I skid when my feet hit the wooden floor as I forgot that I am only wearing socks. I put my hands out and quickly stop my motion using the kitchen counter. My hands sting as my thin, cloth bandages make contact with the hard marble countertop. I let out a small shriek and Peeta turns around sharply. He eyes my hands and gives me a look of pity.

"Katniss, you have to be more careful, you're hurt. It isn't going to help if you go around over-using your hands," Peeta begins walking toward me and I see the cheese buns resting on top of the oven on a small grey platter. A couple sit off to the side on a glass plate from a Capitol kitchenware set that Effie sent me about a week ago. Peeta stops in front of me and takes my hands from the sharp edge of the counter. He flips them over and checks for further injury. When none is present, he lets my hands go. He nods towards a stool a few feet away from me that sits underneath the overhang of the countertop. "Why don't you take a seat?"

"Will I get cheese buns if I do?" I say playfully, I walk towards the stool and gently pull it out. I pause before I sit down, awaiting his answer.

"You'll have to wait until dinner," Peeta throws back with a smirk. I stare at the delicious yellow-topped bread rolls for a few seconds and my mouth begins to salivate. "It'll be read in twenty minutes or so."

I sigh and sit down to wait. At one point, Peeta puts an odd mixture in the oven and takes off his gloves. He leaves the room without a word and I hear the bathroom door shut in the silence. I take this as my chance to curb my hunger. I dash for the plate and grab a cheese bun, stuffing it into my mouth as quick as I can. It's still warm and delicious, as always. Peeta comes back out just as I lick my fingers. He doesn't seem to notice until he looks at the glass plate.

"Did you touch the cheese buns?" Peeta questions playfully, a smile gracing his face.

"Yes, what are you going to do about it?" I tease. His face seems to take a turn for the worst, but I know better. I can still see the faint glow in his eyes that tells me that he's only joking.

"I'll show you what I'll do!" He yells suddenly and runs for me. He picks me up and hangs me over his shoulder. He opens the back door and runs out. The night air is cool and slightly damp. Peeta begins spinning around quickly. He stops for a moment and takes me off his shoulder and puts me on the ground. I cross my arms coarsely and give my best pout. But, like me earlier, he knows better. He lifts me up by the armpits and continues to spin. Before I know it, he's just staring at me and I'm smiling broadly. At some point, Peeta's prosthetic leg catches on a weed on the ground and he spills backwards. I land on top of him and we both chuckle. I roll off of him and help him up. He puts and arm around me and we walk into the house together. Peeta takes the odd mixture he put in the oven earlier out when the timer goes out and tends to it on the other side. I tiptoe towards the plate of cheese buns gently, but just as my hand reaches out for another of the delicious treats, Peeta's warning voice catches my ear and his hands are lifting up the plate from behind me.

"I know you all too well, Katniss."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3- MEMORIES**

Peeta left late last night and I was forced to sleep by myself, my hands still burnt with pain, but it wasn't as fresh. As expected, my nightmares came on full force. I decided against going over to Peeta's and awaking him in the middle of the night. Instead, I waited until I saw the first strings of light falling through my window curtain and sprung out of bed as fast as I could, my body still shaking with nightmares. I threw open my dresser and tossed on my father's hunting jacket, boots, and grabbed my bow and arrow from the study on my way down the hall. I hopped down the stairs, out the door, and across the lawn in a whir and arrived at Gale and I's old rendezvous spot. Now, I regret my decision to come here, because someone's stuff is sitting on the rock ledge.

My mind is thrown into a whirlwind. Who is the visitor to our rendezvous spot? What if it's Gale's stuff? Should I wait for the visitor to return? Should I leave? I cannot think straight and I tumble backwards and run into a tree. I hear footsteps and turn to see a figure walking my way. His hair is disheveled, his body long and lean, his eyes are the first things I can catch a clear view of in the pale morning light. The grey meets my eyes and I detect traces of true joy and surprise in them and suddenly I am fearful of the person walking toward me now. Part of me knows Gale wouldn't hurt me. Part of me says he didn't kill Prim. But another part of me is screaming for me to run, away from this forest, away from the rock ledge, from the monster approaching me with a light tread, away from Gale. I turn on my heel and begin to briskly walk back to the fence. The footsteps follow me and begin to pick up their pace each time mine do. Suddenly, I am sprinting to safety and all I can hear is the pleading cries of my old friend.

"Catnip, wait!" Gale yells, loud and clear. But I don't. I don't wait, because I can't face him. He's just another monster from my past that I have worked so hard to get rid of. My recovery may be going smoothly, but I don't believe in miracles. A miracle is what I would need to have the strength to face him. Maybe I'll never see him again. Maybe it will be for the best. But part of me says that won't happen. I know that life isn't that merciful. It wouldn't let me just forget what is probably the most painful experience of my life- the death of my little sister. Because here comes the most prominent reminder of that event, the creator of the bomb that murdered Prim, Gale Hawthorne. I know he apologized and I know he didn't have anything to do with the actual usage of the bombs- but it was still his invention.

My heart is tearing into two now as I dive under the fence and into the safety of the district. My past can't hurt me here- not with the new buildings that keep popping up in the square and the Seam. You can't even tell what area is the Seam and what isn't. In place of the old, run-down shacks that we Seam dwellers used to live in stand large, two-story houses that are better than any merchant family's apartment. I smile at the thought of new neighbors, older couples, just married couples, whole families with new children, moving into these brand new houses. It reminds me that the rest of the world is moving on and that I might just be able to also. But then my pleasant thoughts are interrupted by someone's voice coming from behind me.

"Catnip, please, listen to me," Gale whispers gently as he wraps his arms around my waist. He leans his mouth down towards my face and plants a kiss directly behind my left ear.

I clear my throat, "No, Gale," I state with as much confidence as I can muster.

"I just want to talk," His voice is light, it flows smoothly and, with his lips so close to my ear and his words barely a whisper, it loses the rebellious edge it once had. He has me trapped once again.

"Okay," I squeak. He lets me go and I turn, I look up and down him and notice that his physical features have not changed in these few months. He doesn't seem to have any lasting injuries from the war. He seems to be in a much better mental state than me. I bring my eyes up from where I had been staring at the slow, breathing movements of his chest and try to lock them on his. But I can't, so I just look down at the ground and let the tears flow from my eyes. He reaches out- presumably to try and comfort me- but I don't want his touch. I don't want to be here.

I begin backing away slowly, almost imperceptibly. But then I feel a shift in the air and Gale lunges forward and latches onto my shoulder.

"No, Katniss, please, I said I just want to talk to you," He says, his eyes filled with confusion. I can't let him do this to me, not again. He can trap a person just as easily as he can set a snare, and I won't fall victim to it again.

I sigh lightly, "Maybe I don't want to talk to you, Gale," I shake my shoulder violently and grab his hand and throw it off my shoulder.

"Why can't you just let me talk to you? How many times do I have to say it, Catnip?" He yells, suddenly losing the lightness he had tricked me with only a minute earlier. A couple of people stop and turn towards us, but immediately turn away. They probably recognize me, they probably don't care for the troubles I have or the troubles I've caused anymore.

"What?" I hiss. Hurt registers in his eyes, his lips open many times only to close again. He obviously wasn't actually expecting me to let him speak. Enraged by his hesitance after disturbing my peaceful morning, I scream, "I said what!"

His lips still don't move, they just stay in their same, slightly-parted position. Then something strange happens, his face leans in towards mine and he presses his lips flat against mine. I put my hands up in defense and try to break away but he grabs me and presses my body against his. Reflexively, I kick him in the shin. He releases me.

"What the hell was that?" I yell as I back away. He has a smug expression lying beneath his neutral features. He stole a kiss from me. He thinks he has succeeded.

"Can we talk somewhere private?" He asks quietly.

"You think I'll trust you after that?" I scoff. He looks hurt and it looks as if tears are threatening to spill over his eye lids.

"I won't do it again, I promise," He says, and he's ensnared me yet again. I have fallen for his ways. He really seems genuine in his promise.

"Okay," I sigh. He grabs my hand and leads me back into the woods. We walk for a long time, just talking. After we've walked for about ten minutes, he begins talking.

"I've missed you," He whispers. His words seem to be carried off by the breeze, they barely trickle from his lips. I can't think of a response because I'm not sure if I missed him or not, so I just glance at him uncomfortably and then back down to my feet. "Look, Catnip, I'm sorry, I didn't know they were going to use it like that, I didn't know that my creation, my bomb, would kill your sister. It wasn't my fault. Can't you forgive me?" He stops in his tracks and turns to me.

I face away from him until he grabs both of my shoulders and gently turns me towards him. I take him in fully. He doesn't look like a killer; he looks like the fourteen year old boy I met all those years ago in the woods. He looks soft and broken. He looks lost just as I did when we were emaciated and underfed. He looks like my friend. But then I lock eyes with him and hold his gaze for the first time since before Prim's death, and what I see scares me. I relive my sister's death in his eyes. I see her burst into flames. She's gone and he's the one responsible for it.

I take a deep breath and turn away from him, "I don't know," I breathe out. I continue walking deeper into the woods and after a few moments Gale jogs to catch up with me. We walk for what seems like forever in silence. It's a long excruciating silence. We reach our old rendezvous point, but we don't stop. With my worst memories fresh in my head, sitting in that spot would only add to my suffering. How could everything have changed so quickly? Was it really only last Summer that we had sat in this very spot and hunted and laughed and even kissed? It doesn't seem possible. In this one year, we have both been hurt, scarred even by the war. But I feel as though the only real mental wounds Gale has are by my hand. They are my fault. In this moment, I don't think he cares about anything but getting me to forgive him. He's extending an olive branch, he wants to be my friend again, but I won't let him. I have to remind myself as we walk that he's right. It wasn't his fault they used the bomb- But he did make it. He did design the contraption that took my sister's life. It was Coin's order that dropped those bombs. With my thoughts swirling in my head, I almost don't realize that we have reached the lake where my father would take me as a child. I stop dead and stare at the pond. I haven't been here since my meeting with Bonnie and Twill, yet two more people that didn't survive the rebellion- They didn't survive to even see the start of it, really. I tread into the small, square cement shack and lean against the fireplace. I trace my fingers along the brick walls and try to remember the sweet memories I had of this place; The long treks here with my father, swimming, eating berries, searching for Katniss weeds. But the majority of what fills my mind is my meeting with Gale- right before his whipping. I realize now that he has come up behind me and is leaning against the door frame, he has a pained expression on his face as we lock eyes. My mind goes blank and all I want is to comfort him. Before I know what I'm doing, I take small steps towards him and press my lips full against his.

His hands hesitate and then find my waist. They rub my lower back. His hands seem to find a rhythm and then their moving up and down the whole of my back. Gale begins moving his lips faster against mine. His lips are slightly chapped and I detect a hint of blood coming from a crack in the center of his bottom lip. He tastes of fire and rage. His hands find their way to my stomach, never leaving contact with my skin. As I'm thinking that maybe this was wrong, that I shouldn't have kissed him, I feel something I've never felt with Gale before- I feel the heat that grows inside of my chest- but it isn't like it is with Peeta, it's different, but I don't know why. I wrap my arms around his neck and he begins probing my mouth with his tongue, I open my mouth and allow him entrance. Our tongues dance with a sense of confidence and comfort. Gale removes his tongue and his kisses slowly move away from my mouth. Warm lips make their way from my mouth to my chin and then my neck. I take a step back, surprised that he would try to take things farther than what I wish for- I guess I've just gotten too used to Peeta's actions and I have forgotten that other people don't act as he does. My mouth is agape, I don't know if I want him to continue with these kisses, but when I begin to pull away from him, his pained expression tells me that I cannot deny him this.

I step towards him again and give him a nervous smile. He immediately begins to push me backwards. My back slams against the wall. His lips make contact with my skin again and one hand holds me against the wall by my shoulder while the other finds my hip and clasps it. Why am I allowing him to do this to me? At one point I squirm, trying to break our contact, but he won't allow it. There's a shift in his eyes and I tell I won't be leaving my position anytime soon. His tongue dances as he kisses my neck. Suddenly, he detaches his lips from my neck and gasps for air. His expression scares me. Sometimes, on a successful hunting trip, I would see this face of his. The expression that he wears is that of someone with an enormous amount of power; and it makes me cringe.

The hand that had been grasping my neck finds the sleeves of my hunting jacket and it falls to the ground soundlessly. Our eyes lock and he takes a tiny step forward. What am I doing? Does Gale believe that some forbidden act is going to occur between us? I only meant to give him a small kiss. I don't want this.

"Gale, I can't-" I try to tell him no, but his lips stop mine and he trails kisses down my neck again. His beat has changed and his facial features have taken a turn for the worst. The only emotion I see is want, rage-driven want.

His breath is hot against my ear as he leans down to whisper in my ear, "I want you," he breathes. I am scared. Gale wants me. He begins trailing kisses down my neck and rubbing his hands against my hips. I don't want this, he must sense that shouldn't he? If he doesn't. . . I may be stuck. I begin to think of a way out of my situation and realize my best path may be to beg him not to. To seem pathetic, to let him know that I don't want it. He must still have compassion for me, right?

"Gale," I croak. He doesn't seem to stop or hesitate any, "Gale!" I repeat, my voice sharper this time. His motion still moves forward. I scream at the top of my lungs and something shifts in his eyes. He takes a step back.

"What the hell, Katniss?" He yells ferociously, "I thought you would want this, I thought you would want _me,"_ his tongue clicks and hisses as he says the last word and it stings.

"I. . . I-" My words tumble and I stutter, unable to form a clear thought. Because I do want him, but not like that, I want him as my friend. I want things to be like they were before the Games. I don't want to be pushed into another relationship, not after what we've been through.

"You what, Katniss?" I hear Gale spit from the door. I feel myself willing him to leave. I don't want him to be here with me anymore. I have to say something to make him leave me alone.

His rage has transferred and I find myself yelling at him, "I don't want you! I'll never want you!" I yell at him with as much anger as I can muster.

"Why not?" He scoffs. I didn't know that Gale could be so conceited. Does he mean that there is no reason for me not to want him? Of course, or else he would've sounded more hurt, confused, or saddened, even, right?

"I don't need to tell you anything," I respond. I would actually love to tell him off, to tell him every reason why I don't want him, but something tells me that would only bring up bad memories and visions of mutts and lost children.

"It's Bread Boy, isn't it? You and your little Capitol-created boyfriend are finally hitting it off and you're just going to throw me, the one who helped you, protected you even, in the garbage like I'm nothing to you? Is that it, huh? After all I've done for you, Katniss!" He angrily swaying from foot to foot, he seems nervous, but his ferocity and anger drive him more than his nerves, just as they always have. He advances on me and seems to be attempting to intimidate me, to make me say something I don't mean. He seems to be trying to intimidate me into loving him. Something snags in my mind and suddenly, I can't believe Gale would be so derogatory towards Peeta, and it makes me want to snap his neck.

"Don't call him that ever again!" I roar as I shove both of my hands against his chest. I push him hard. "You really think you've done that much for me? Name one thing you've done for me in the past year, Gale, that doesn't involve the fact that you killed my little sister!"

His face reflects everything from shock to annoyance. However, his lips do not move. Instead, they stay tightly pursed together as he grabs either side of his head and shakes it violently. I've never seen Gale so flustered. He locks eyes with me and I am again fearful of the creature before me. It's almost as if Gale is Peeta and he is having a hijacking attack—but this Gale has control over. Gale strides towards me and I dive out the door and begin sprinting into the woods, back to the safety of the District.

Before I can stop it, there are tears falling from my eyes.

**A/N- I apologize for not uploading for the past. . . Um. . . Three months. . . But I have been incredibly busy and I had the worst case of writer's block, as well as a severe case of insecurity in my writing, for the longest time. So I aplogize for my unexpected hiatus there. However, I am actually almost done with Chapter 4 as I wrote Chapter 4 and Chapter 3 at the same time (It was quite a weird process.) But, as every time I post, reviews are appreciated as wells as favorites, follows, etc. I hope you enjoy this chapter of Growing Flames! :)**


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